


The Ring of the Heart

by Achromos



Category: Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor (Video Games), TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle of the Hornburg | Battle of Helm's Deep, Epic Battles, M/M, Magic, Orcs, POV Alternating, Rings of Power, Singing, Talion is OP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 10:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17160731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achromos/pseuds/Achromos
Summary: All seems lost as preparations to make one last stand in Helm's Deep are underway. The forces of Saruman are marching, there seems to be no hope to win.And then a mysterious pair of strangers offers their help - an army of orcs, and a Ring of Power.





	The Ring of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, this is the fic where they do not forge the New Ring - instead, they make a different sort of ring, that is not based on domination. Because I knew right away that was a terrible idea. This means Celebrimbor did not lose his cool and betray Talion. And I also thought, it would have helped a lot if Talion and Celebrimbor joined the War of the Ring. (Just ignore that Mordor is _way_ further away than Isengard, and you'll have a better time with this fic by the way.)
> 
> This fic is told from an outside POV, mainly Gimli, Leoglas and Aragorn's.
> 
> 'Enda' is a Quenya word meaning heart or center.
> 
> Enjoy!

Preparations to fortify Helm's Deep against the forces of Saruman the White were going quite well. That was to say, the Rohirrim were surely to be hopelessly outnumbered. The outer walls were ready to crumble, and they had little hopes of surviving a siege, should it come to that. They had led the women and children and the elderly to the caves below, where they should be safe. Éowyn was with them, lending her strength and courage, proving herself a true leader of her people. Therefore, Gimli did not worry about them overmuch. But the castle itself.

Gimli overlooked preparations at the outer wall, where they were setting up boiling oil pots to pour onto the attackers below. The gate itself was fortified, and the banisters readied to hold their archers, few though they had. Time was of the essence. They did not know when the attack would come, only that it would surely come too early. They did not have the manpower, they did not have the arms.

Below in the courtyard he saw Aragorn, overseeing the distribution of swords and spears to their army. What little of an army it was, anyway. He saw far too many unbearded ones and too many with greying beards. It did not bode well.

Up on the highest ramparts he saw Legolas, helping the archers. His elvish complexion showed nothing of the fear he must surely feel. Anyone who was alive would be afraid, even Gimli, who stood staunchly in the face of any threat, could admit that he was afraid now.

He looked at the Hornburg, crumbling and old and battered, and thought that if he were to die? It might not be such a bad place to do so.

It was only the second day since their arrival at the fortress, but already it had transformed a little. There were braziers lit, a bustling of activity, and signs of their defenses everywhere. They were all doing their best. It had to be enough. Surely it would be enough.

He repressed the urge to sigh and helped some Rohirrim soldiers push one of the massive oil vats to its proper spot above the gate. It gave him something to do, even if it was only the expenditure of physical power. A few moments of business to distract from their prospect of almost certain doom.

At least he was going to die in battle.

Gimli was deeply entrenched in the works at the gate, when he heard a familiar voice crying out. He had turned and fixed his eyes on the battlements above, where he knew Legolas had made his perch. Sure enough, the elf stood there, balancing on the rock, arm outstretched.

"I see banners!" he cried, and suddenly everyone and everything was deathly silent.

Gimly felt all blood drain from his face. Saruman's forces. Already? It couldn't be.

"Do you see the White Hand?" came the answering call. Aragorn.

Legolas paused, visibly straining even his accurate eyes.

"I do not."

A collective sigh went through the ranks. But Gimli frowned. If they were not flying Saruman's colors, then who was it? Who would march upon Helm's Deep?

"Gimli."

He turned, seeing Aragorn approach. They didn't need to exchange any words to convey their meaning.

"I'll make sure he doesn't get into too much trouble," Gimli said. The answering nod was heavy with gratitude. And worry. He often hid it, Aragorn, he did. But Gimli had travelled with him long enough to know the signs.

Only a short while later they had Arod saddled and prepared, his two riders in the saddle. The gates opened at their behest, and out they rode. Towards this army, marching towards Helm's Deep.

By now they were close enough that even Gimli could pick out the cloud of dust that thousands of feet poured into the sky. They rode towards it, hoping to get close enough that Legolas could make out more, get them valuable information.

Somewhere deep down, Gimli hoped beyond hope that this was help arriving. More than likely, however, these were Saruman's forces, driven to inhuman speeds by magic and sorcery. Or some other force of evil, straight from Mordor. He clung to Legolas as he urged Arod forward, hoping he would not have to use the axe strapped to his back just yet.

They had been riding for a few minutes perhaps, when Legolas reigned in Arod, slowing him to a leisurely trot.

"I can see them now," Legolas said. "They are orcs. Uruk. But it is strange, they are so orderly. The banner is not Saruman's, indeed, but it is white. And at the front, I could swear rides a Man. And- …"

"Aye?" Gimli urged on, sensing that there was more.

"I have a strange feeling," was all Legolas offered before turning Arod around.

"Well, what do you think? Friend or foe?"

Legolas was quiet, clearly thinking over his answer. Patiently, Gimli relaxed a little, though he kept his arms around the elf's waist.

"Not foe."

"Friend, you mean."

"No." Legolas shook his head, sending his hair flying. Gimli wrinkled his nose and leaned back a little, lest he get tickled by it. "Just … not foe. I will need to speak to Aragorn and King Théoden about what this means."

Gimli grumbled under his breath, something about the elvish need for secrecy and mysteriousness that never failed to irritate. It was more to tease Legolas than anything, to dispel the sudden tension in his back that even Gimli could feel. It transferred to him, and through them both to Arod, who sped up his gallop, carrying them swiftly back to Helm's Deep.

"And? Who is it?"

King Théoden did not flinch when they rode narrowly past him at a quick canter, turning around belatedly to descent before him.

"If we may speak somewhere more private," Legolas said, exchanging a look with Aragorn, whose frown intensified.

"This way."

The four of them entered a chamber that had previously most likely held stores of weapons, but now was empty. They had handed out everything, even the rustiest of swords.

"It is not Saruman," Legolas said as soon as the door closed behind them. "But I know not who else it might be."

"Describe them," said King Théoden.

"They are Uruk, neatly organized and marching swiftly, as if driven by magic. The banner is white, but a circle rather than a hand. Or a wreath perhaps. And they are led by a Man."

"A Man? Are you certain?"

Gimli nearly scoffed. Of course he was certain, no one had eyes keener than Legolas'.

"I felt … a presence," Legolas continued.

"What kind of presence?" Aragorn asked. "Was it malicious?"

"No." Legolas frowned. "But it was mighty. It felt rather like …"

Gimli felt himself lean forward in suspense and saw Aragorn and the King of Rohan do the same out of the corner of his eyes.

"Like the air in Caras Galadhon. There was a sort of power there. It felt very old."

"But if it is not malicious," Gimli said.

"It may be deceptive," Aragorn cautioned. "Remember, it is an army of orcs."

"Bugger." Gimli stroked his beard. "We are not ready to stand against a full assault yet."

"We will have to," muttered King Théoden, marching off, most likely to share this information with his lieutenants.

"What else can we do?" Gimli asked, turning to Aragorn for guidance.

The former Ranger looked determined. Once again, there was no doubt in Gimli's heart that this man was not only worthy of being King – but that he already was one, crown or no crown.

"We can only rejoin the efforts to prepare the fortress. And we must inspire these men out there, who are asked to fight to the death. This is a daunting task. Yet we must endure. Our presence among their ranks will go a long way."

Gimli nodded and walked towards the door, when he noticed that Legolas had stayed behind. He was bent close to Aragorn, whispering, though not quietly enough that Gimli could not hear him. Not that it mattered. It was in the Elvish language, anyway. He scoffed and went back to fortifying the main gate.

It did not take long until even their human scouts could make out the details of the approaching troops. When one of them cried out in alarm, the way some of the men startled betrayed their anxiety. Gimli hushed them and spoke some consoling words, listening with half an ear.

A lone rider was approaching. Perhaps to negotiate? To mock?

Gimli left his post and joined King Théoden and Aragorn, who had come to the Deeping Wall to see for themselves. Truly, a lone rider approached. But he rode no horse. Nay, the beast was a warg, perhaps, or some other foul creature.

King Théoden raised his hand, halting the fearful gestures of some of the archers that had already gathered here, preparing to draw their bows.

"Not yet."

Gimli squinted, not seeing very well even at this decreased distance. The army was a blur of bodies, but the rider himself … Surely, he was mistaken.

"Two riders," Aragorn whispered next to him. "One steed."

Steed. Gimli snorted. But then he had not seen wrong. Two riders. It rather reminded him of Legolas and himself, sharing a saddle like this.

The first rider who sat up front seemingly reigned in his … warg. Just within the distance at which a regular bow could make an accurate shot. A sign of trust? A taunt?

"Hail!" he called out, straightening on top of his nervously shifting steed. The second rider made no move. "I seek parlay with the master of this fortress. King Théoden of Rohan, I believe."

Gimli looked at the King, who stared at the rider below, grinding his teeth. He leaned across the banister, as if to get a better look into the man's eyes.

"And who," he answered, "are you?"

"We are the Bright Lords of Mordor, and we have come to offer our aid against Saruman the White."

Gimli gasped and heard the sound echoed by the men around him. Aid. Mordor. His head swam. It was almost too good to believe. Too terrible to contemplate. It had to be a trap. He saw King Théoden exchange a glance with Aragorn, both looking grim. Yes, a trap. A lure. They were meant to open the gates, let in these riders, make themselves vulnerable. But he was not going to give them what they wanted.

"I will have my agent speak to you personally," King Théoden shouted then. "He speaks with my trust and full authority. You will not attack him. You will allow my man a protective escort of four men. You will not advance any further. You will have your troops halt their march at once. Any non-compliance with our demands, and we will not hesitate to shoot you."

The first rider turned around in his saddle, looking at the second rider behind him. They discussed among themselves, just as King Théoden and Aragorn had done before.

"We agree to your terms."

Gimli watched as the first rider calmly descended from his steed. The sight of the second rider, clad in unblemished white, taking control over the warg to undoubtedly direct it back to their army and halt their approach was almost enough to distract him from the fact that Aragorn was leaving his side.

"Aragorn," he called after him.

"Stay here Gimli, while I negotiate with this man."

"You- …" he spluttered, looking to King Théoden for confirmation. He only met his gaze calmly. "You are sending him to speak for you?"

"There is no other choice."

///

Aragorn took a deep breath and walked through the secondary gates, keeping his stance light and open. He did not want to seem hostile, yet he still needed to be ready to draw weapons or run for cover at any second. The four Eorlingas acting as his escort walked behind him, heavily armed and no doubt prepared for anything.

A quick scan of the man before him – for indeed it was a Man – told him that he had a warrior before him. Unafraid, by the ease of his gaze. With some surprise, Aragorn also noted his Gondorian coloring and features. What was a kinsman of his doing here, leading an army of Uruk?

"Well met," he called out. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

The man nodded, smiling a little.

"A pleasure, I'm sure. I am Talion."

No parentage, Aragorn noted. A bastard? An exile? A criminal? He discarded the thought. It mattered not. They were here, now, between the rock of Helm's Deep and the pressure of an advancing Uruk army. Negotiating.

"You said you are a Lord of Mordor," Aragorn began. "Explain."

The man, Talion, shrugged.

"We have been conquering and liberating fortresses and strongholds in Mordor. I think that makes us lords. Or at least I am told that."

"You are told. You are not the leader then?"

"I am one of the leaders," Talion said, curtly. "I share the burden."

"With who?"

"Look, we brought as many of our troops as we could without being slowed down too much. We are offering our aid in defending Helm's Deep. Do you want our help or not?"

Aragorn pursed his lips. If this was a legitimate offer, it would be invaluable. But these were orcs, led by a Man or not.

"How do we know we can trust you?"

Talion chuckled a little, rubbing his chin.

"I told him that he should have done the negotiation," he muttered. "I don't know how to prove it to you. He would know."

At least he was honest, Aragorn thought. Everything in his heart told him that he could trust this man, but he was also wary. It might be sorcery, compelling him.

"Tell me why and how you are commanding an army of orcs."

The man looked at him, surprised. Then his face relaxed.

"If I told you, you would not believe me."

Aragorn shrugged.

"Alright. The why is simple enough. They follow us. They are loyal to us. They love us." Talion smiled again. "Well, they love him, at least. They grudgingly respect me. But we have earned that love and respect. In Mordor, the influence of the Dark Lord is very palpable. For many orcs who were born there, there is nothing but that influence upon them. We have shown them another way."

"How?" Aragorn asked, frowning.

"Well. With a Ring of Power, of course."

He hissed and reached for his weapon.

"Then it is clear to me, you are an agent of the enemy. Leave now, or you will be crushed by the might of Rohan."

Behind him, he could hear his escort readying their swords as well, prepared to defend him. But Talion only stood there, still as relaxed and calm as before.

"You misunderstand. It is a new Ring. We have forged it not too long ago." His eyes shifted to the ramparts above. "You have an elf in there. Surely, they will have felt it."

Aragorn shifted a little. There was no way he should have known about Legolas, or what elves were capable of.

"They have, indeed."

"Good. Then they can tell you that it has not been touched by Sauron. In fact, we originally planned to forge a different ring, in the fires of Mount Doom like the One before. I discouraged my- … my friend from that, lest its corruption be carried through that connection. Instead, we forged this ring, completely different from all the others." Talion looked at Aragorn again. "He calls it Enda. The Ring of the Heart."

"You are not bearing it," Aragorn noted, looking at the man's hands.

"No."

"Then how can I judge whether this Ring or its bearer are truly pure, uncorrupted?"

Talion smiled lightly again, turning a little.

"I'm sure we can convince you."

And as if on cue, a voice carried over the plains.

Astonished, Aragorn slackened his grip on his weapon, looking past Talion where he knew his troops stood waiting. After a short delay, more voices joined the first, until there was no doubt anymore that the entire army was singing.

They were _singing_.

Like a warm summer breeze, Aragorn felt a feeling of contentment and joy wash over him, clearly the influence that was being exuded by the Ring. He should shudder before so much power. Yet all he felt was this … elevation. He hadn't even realized how tired and weary he'd been. How downtrodden and disheartened. It was as if his heart were being lifted into the air and healed. He felt hope again, just like that. Because he heard an army of orcs singing.

"They don't have the nicest voices," Talion chuckled. "But they are surprisingly talented when it comes to rhythm. And they love doing this."

Just like that, the harmonies came to a slow end, tapering off until there was only silence left. Breathless, Aragorn looked over his shoulder at his guards, who were fighting smiles that threatened to spread over their grim faces.

"Numbers?"

"Ten thousand. Among those, nine hundred archers, five hundred caragor riders and a thousand trolls."

"How did you communicate with them?" Aragorn asked, after a short pause. He felt the Ring's influence recede, leaving him almost cold and shivering. It terrified him. Yet it had been so _good_. He wished to doubt it, and he could not.

"We share a connection. It was intended as a curse. I find it is rather a blessing."

Aragorn nodded.

"The King gave me permission to speak with his authority, but I still wish to confer with him. But I believe that we would be foolish to turn away your offer. I do not think your … men will be allowed inside the walls, however."

"What of me and my partner? We would like to speak with the King himself, and perhaps offer further assistance with the fortress' defenses."

"I believe an exception may be made. If your partner is no orc?"

Talion laughed at this, eyes glinting with mirth.

"No, he is not orc."

"Then I see no problem to admit you both inside."

"That is acceptable. I will wait here for the King's approval."

With that, Aragorn turned his back on the strange man that commanded orc armies and communicated with Ring-bearers. It did not even occur to him not to turn his back. That, if nothing else, told him that this was no enemy. His instincts had never led him astray so far.

King Théoden grimaced, when Aragorn told him his opinion, but he clearly too saw no reason to turn away an offer of help such as this. Their defense had been hopeless. But an army in front of their walls? An army of orcs, no less, expendable and coming with the added benefits of being supported by a Ring of Power? He could not say no.

Aragorn leaned over the ramparts and nodded at Talion. Not a moment later the sounds of troops on the march rumbled across the plains.

///

The men were rather uneasy about the army of orcs encamped in front of the fortress walls. Their rough voices carried far, letting taunting laughter and gruff sentences overlap with the noises of their preparations in the courtyard and further up, the castle proper. King Théoden's presence helped a little, as he stood regally, flanked by his most trusted advisors, Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas. They waited patiently for the gate to open and admit these lords of Mordor.

Gimli didn't know what to think. Aragorn had told them of his impressions and his decision to accept the help of this army. He trusted Aragorn with his life. But surely, this was madness.

The two figures striding through the gate as soon as it was wide enough to let them through did not change his opinion that this was just as likely to bite them in the ass as it was to save their sorry hides from certain death. One of them looked a bit like Aragorn, with a sorrowful brow, dark hair and a scruffy chin. Leaning on his arm, however, was a figure he had not expected to see.

He was an elf, there was no mistaking it, despite the way he clearly struggled to remain upright. He had the reedy length of body that still, after all this time, seemed strange to Gimli. Those pointy ears, peeking through dark hair. He was clad in pure white robes that echoed the white of the Man's cloak.

And on his left hand, the unmistakable shape of a Ring. It rested innocently against the stiff fabric covering the Man's elbow.

Next to him, Gimli could hear Legolas gasp. Whether it was due to the revelation that one of their esteemed guests was an elf or because of the Ring, Gimli could not tell.

"Be welcome! I am King Théoden of Rohan, and I offer you the hospitality of Helm's Deep, little though it may be. We are grateful of your offer of aid in this dire hour of need."

"We greet you, King Théoden. It is our honor to have been granted even a glimpse of Helm's Deep, noble and stalwart as it is. We will gladly defend it in your name," said the Man and looked around. "Is there perhaps somewhere we may sit?"

Gimli's eyes strayed back to the elf, whose stare had become vacant.

"Yes, certainly, follow me."

King Théoden went ahead, guiding them towards the castle proper. Behind him, the two lords followed, flanked by Rohirrim. And as the rear guard, Gimli joined Legolas and Aragorn.

"What do you think?" Aragorn asked quietly.

"There is something wrong with this elf," Legolas said immediately. "Something is … eating at him. And it is not the Ring."

"It's all really strange to me," Gimli offered with a shrug.

"True enough."

They arrived at the castle grounds, where they garnered the attention of some of the more senior warriors stationed here. Perhaps they had not heard much from below. Clearly, they were very curious, though too disciplined to say anything.

King Théoden brought them to the strategy room, likely the only space where a table stood that was large enough to seat all of them. He gestured for them to sit, and Gimli silently lamented the Tall Folks' propensity to make chairs that were too high. Next to him sat Legolas, who had no such problems. And a few chairs over were the newcomers. The Man dragged his chair closer to his elf companion's, allowing their arms to remain linked.

"First," King Théoden said, "perhaps a round of introductions. You know who I am. These are Gamling and Elfhelm, two of my most trusted lieutenants and advisors. You have already met Aragorn, son of Arathorn. And these are his companions, Legolas and Gimli."

"Well met. I am Talion," said the Man.

"And I am Celebrimbor the Ringmaker," added his companion, his deep voice smooth despite the obvious difficulty he still had remaining upright in his seat.

Gimli felt more than saw Legolas sit straighter. He elbowed the elf, but only got a minute headshake in return.

"Tell us how we can be best of assistance," continued Talion.

King Théoden then proceeded to show them the plans of Helm's Deep, the layout of the fortress and its defenses. He spoke about the measures they had taken to fortify the Deeping Wall and their numbers. They were pitiful, even with the draft of boys that were too young and men who were too old.

"I will not allow your … your men inside the walls," the King emphasized. "And we do not have time to build trenches- …"

"Oh, don't worry about that. I have already instructed Ishmoz to begin with the construction of outer defenses."

Stunned silence.

"Ishmoz?" repeated Gamling.

"Oh. That is the name of one of our captains."

"You said you had archers," interrupted Legolas, before more confused questions could arise.

"Indeed. Crossbowmen, to be precise."

"How will you protect them on the field?"

Talion's face shifted a little, perhaps annoyed.

"They will be guarded by trolls and Olog-Hai."

"Rest assured," added his companion, his tone decidedly acerbic, "that we have more than enough experience in battle to know how and when to deploy our forces."

"And how, then, is it that we have never heard of you before? Where were your armies earlier?" Legolas continued, his voice rising. Gimli reached out to touch his arm, and the elf relaxed a little. "We know nothing about you, while the King has opened his gates to you and entrusted you with the plans of his fortress. It is only fair that we learn more from you as well."

"You know nothing of us because no one has ever bothered to look upon Mordor and its inner workings," said Celebrimbor, suddenly seeming stronger. Gimli noted that he no longer leaned on his companion so heavily. "For decades we have disrupted the Enemy's attempts at building his army, stolen supplies, killed orc captains, conquered fortresses. We have known this war would come, and this is only one battle, but one that must be won. Rohan must not fall. Rohan must stand. And Mordor – _our_ Mordor – stands with you."

"We can offer you more than just our troops as well. There are benefits to a Ring such as this one. And we will fight, too."

"Benefits?"

"Surely you cannot mean to fight yourselves."

Gimli braced himself at the mentioning of Rings of Power. In his experience, limited as it was, only rarely did people withstand the temptation of such a thing. A mere trinket, they'd think and grab for it, only for things to revolve into murder and greed.

"We are asking these orcs to die for you," said the elf, putting his left hand flat on the table. There, on the finger, shone the Ring. It seemed so very simple, but Gimli nonetheless felt its dormant powers. "With this Ring, they will do so gladly, happily. You may decide for yourselves whether or not that is a mercy or a curse."

"How is it different from the One?" Aragorn asked. "Talion called it the Ring of the Heart. What does this mean?"

"It means that Enda was forged free from Sauron's influence. We- … I almost made the mistake to imbue it with the same weakness as the One. But we have forged Enda independently, like the Three, and with specifications that are polar opposites to anything that the Dark Lord has ever willed into previous Rings of Power." The elf paused, looking at them one after another. "It asks for loyalty. It asks for love. And where it finds that, it enhances it. This is not a Ring of dominion. This is not a Ring of greed and jealousy."

"And you will fight with us?" asked King Théoden.

"Yes. We will fight wherever we are most needed."

Gimli nearly snorted. He could see the Man fighting, perhaps. He had the look of a warrior. But the elf? He could barely stand on his own two feet, much less do battle. Then again, a Ring of Power had many benefits. Perhaps it lent him strength when he needed it.

"How will we coordinate between our troops? Is there a chain of command? If your army stands before our walls, we will have to know how to avoid interfering with their formations," asked Elfhelm.

"There is no chain of command. They know what to do in battle."

"But then- …"

"Just ignore them." Talion grimaced a little. "They are no more than a buffer of meat between the enemy and your walls. They are there to buy you time. We do not expect many of them to survive."

This seemed to sober Aragorn a little. Gimli scoffed. These were orcs they were talking about, loyal or not. He wasn't going to mourn the death of a few of those filthy dirt spawns. Let them die in defense of Helm's Deep.

"As long as I also get to bash in some orc heads myself, I don't care," he said, knocking his knuckles against the table top.

To his surprise, the elf, Celebrimbor, laughed.

"Oh, it has been too long since last I heard the refreshing bluntness of dwarves."

"Last?" Gimli exclaimed. "Surely you have never met a dwarf!"

"No, he has," said Legolas, to his surprise.

Gimli frowned.

"What is it you know, and I don't, laddie?"

For a moment, the two elves stared at each other, as if trying to peer into the other one's head. Then, Celebrimbor leaned back, waving the hand which bore the Ring.

"I do not care if they know."

"Legolas?"

Legolas shook his head.

"Later, my friend."

Gimli huffed and crossed his arms, put upon. He was distantly aware that Aragorn and King Théoden continued to discuss their defense plans, when he met the other elf's gaze. He was smiling a little, in that secret way of elves. Gimli's frown deepened. And then he saw the elf's hand. Two fingers extended, tapping against the table, then curved in, the thumb curled inside.

Quickly, he looked away. Damn elves, all of them. Except perhaps Legolas, he was not so terrible. But this one. He looked again, seeing that hand tucked away again as if he had not just insinuated- … And in iglishmek too! If the language of dwarves was secret, hoarding their knowledge of Khuzdul like they hoarded gems and gold, then the language they spoke with their gestures was even more secret than that. And an elf! Daring to sign at him!

He was in such a state that the rest of the meeting rushed by him without him retaining any sort of information. The only reason he knew it had ended was because everyone started getting up.

"We will inform our lieutenant," Talion was saying.

"Then that is settled. Elfhelm, make sure our allies return safely to their camp."

Gimli stayed behind, noticing that Legolas, too, was hovering. Soon enough they were left alone, Aragorn the last one to leave with a look over his shoulder.

"Care to tell me what all that was about?"

"If you tell me what he said to you."

Legolas mimicked the gesture, tapping his fingers against the back of his other hand instead of the table top. Gimli spluttered, meeting Legolas' teasing gaze.

"Well, he was being very rude, that's what that means! Now tell me, elf."

"He said his name is Celebrimbor," Legolas said, sobering a little. "Do you remember the Doors of Moria? If he is truly who he says he is, then he and one of your kinsmen forged it. Imbued it with the magic that can only be opened in moonlight and with the correct password."

"Truly?" Gimli muttered, stroking his beard. "Well alright then."

"That is not all. He is also the one to have forged all of the Rings of Power – except for the One."

"Then it is because of him we're in all this trouble to begin with? Bugger all, we have to tell King Théoden and Aragorn!"

"I am afraid it is not so simple." Legolas frowned a little, looking out and away with a faraway gaze. "I have only been told stories, and few at that. I am a Sinda elf by blood, though I was raised Silvan. We are – or were – at odds with Celebrimbor's kinsmen, the Ñoldor. My father is rather insistent on such differences." He shook himself. "What I mean to say is, the stories, vague as they are, say that the Dark Lord deceived Celebrimbor. And that Celebrimbor paid the price with his life."

Gimli scoffed.

"He seems rather lively for a corpse."

"Indeed," Legolas muttered.

///

Legolas was troubled, and whenever he was troubled, especially by the shadow of evil upon the world, he retreated not inside but rather to places where he may commune with the wind and stars. This time, he had chosen a perch upon the highest tower of the Hornburg. Far below, the preparations for the upcoming battle were still underway even though it had long gone dark. He hummed a few chords, gazing skyward. The firmament was overcast and did not allow him to see his beloved stars. Still, knowing they were there helped.

He was troubled. He was worried and afraid. He might die tomorrow. Never before had he even considered this possibility. But they were confronted with terrible odds, and their only allies were strange, untrustworthy and wore the face of the enemy.

The wind did not just carry the noises of busy Rohirrim to his sharp ears. He also heard the rough laughter and grating voices of orcs. He could not bear to look at them.

Legolas sang, letting the worries of his heart be carried away in the form of a melody. It was quiet enough not to disturb the men working below, but it would help him regain a sense of equilibrium before he was going to retreat into reverie later that night. And as he sang, he could still keep a look out, since his eyes were sharper than Men's, and he saw better in the dark than they did as well.

He did not expect his song to be mirrored by a voice below, calling out sweetly, contrasting his melancholy and anxiety with reassurance and a beckoning.

Surprised, Legolas halted in his song, the sound petering off into the night as he faltered. After a few moments, the second voice fell away too. But it had already worked its magic. From the orc camp in front of Helm's Deep's walls rose a choir. It was unrefined, but clearly intuitive.

Legolas grimaced and turned away, trying to dispel the thoughts in his mind. Orcs were not thinking and feeling creatures capable of song. They were tools of the enemy. These ones had just been repurposed. They were going to die, not with honor, but because that was their function. Their singing was just because they were their master's mouthpieces. Yes. He felt much better about this now.

Then they started chanting a different song.

Cursing under his breath, Legolas swung down from his perch, skidding along the outside of the tower until he reached the Deeping Wall. A few archers they kept there looked at him askance, but he ignored them. He sat on the banister and looked down.

The orcs had organized themselves rather neatly. They were clustered into clumps that each assembled around a small campfire. There were no tents, but then again, they all seemed awake. Standing. Dancing. Singing. And in their midst, a tall, white figure.

Legolas watched Celebrimbor weave his way through the troops of orcs, Uruk, trolls and other foul creatures as if they were his friends. Some reached out to touch him, and he did not recoil. No, he reached back. Grasped their hands, touched their foreheads, let them pull him here and there. They stomped their feet and bowed, scraped when he passed, begging for his attention, for his love, for a glimpse of him.

Legolas sighed.

"I know you are there."

A chuckle. From the battlements behind him, the Man, Talion, jumped to join him with more surefootedness than Legolas would have attributed him.

"They love him," Talion said, leaning against the balustrade next to Legolas. "You don't."

"Indeed, I do not. I know who he is."

"Do you really?"

Legolas frowned and met the Man's gaze. He truly seemed curious.

"I know of his deeds," Legolas corrected himself.

"Ah. Fair enough."

"Do you know him?"

"I rather think I do, yes."

Narrowing his eyes, Legolas regarded the Man more closely. He noted his clothing, a jumble of old and new. Some of it very old, nearly in complete disrepair. Other things, like his pristine white cloak, were clearly new. And then his face. He was looking at Celebrimbor.

"They love him," Legolas said. "But so do you. Are you sure it is not just the Ring's influence on you?"

Talion barked out a laugh.

"It is as good question, I grant you that. Rest assured, I loved him long before we ever even thought of forging Enda. And the Ring does not manipulate feelings like that." He turned to look at Legolas. "Or else, we could have made you love us, no?"

Grumbling silently, he had to concede that point. For a while, they both remained quiet, apparently content with watching and listening. The song had shifted, dispersed. Now there were still some singing orcs, but they were more localized groups, singing perhaps bawdy rhymes as they ate and drank. Celebrimbor had drifted to a part of the camp further away, where the trolls were resting. Against his own judgement, Legolas stiffened, worried. These trolls – Olog-Hai – were large and strong enough to crush anyone between their fingers.

"The Ring of the Heart," Talion began to say, unprompted, "has changed him too."

When nothing else came for a while, Legolas reluctantly tore his eyes away from the sight of Celebrimbor leaning tranquilly against the thumb of a troll.

"How so?"

"A few decades ago he would have been happy to slaughter all of them," Talion said, jerking his chin in the direction of the encampment. "They love him. But he loves them, too, now. In a way."

Legolas frowned.

"A few decades ago," he echoed.

"Yes." Talion smiled a little. "We have been together for quite some time."

It was impossible. Unless …

"Are you one of the Dúnedain?"

"No. I was born in Minas Tirith and raised to be a Ranger of Gondor. For a long time, I was stationed at the Black Gate, defending Gondor from the forces of Mordor. Until it fell, that is."

"Perhaps you should speak to Aragorn again. You and he might find that there is much to speak about."

Talion did not reply immediately, raising his arm, hand outstretched to the sky. Far away, between the grey skinned backs of trolls, Legolas saw the answering gesture and the glint of a Ring in the firelight.

"He is one of the Dúnedain, then. A Ranger of the North?" Talion muttered, lowering his hand.

"Aragorn is far more than meets the eye."

"Interesting. I will keep that in mind. For now, I thank you for the conversation. I think I will go and scout for Saruman's army. By tomorrow morning I should be able to tell you exactly what to expect, and when they will arrive here."

Legolas hesitated. It almost seemed impossible. How was he to gather this information without being spotted by the enemy? And riding out all night, to return by morning? He was just a mortal, if a strangely long-lived one.

"Do not get killed," he offered after a moment.

"We have our ways to remain undetected," was all Talion responded. Then, he joined Legolas to sit on the parapet. "Tell Aragorn I shall speak with him in the morning. Keep a look out for me, though, will you?"

Before Legolas could retort, Talion jumped. Too surprised, Legolas was late to reach out and catch him – but then he saw him landing on the ground, light on his feet like a cat, shooting off at a swift pace towards the front of the orc army. Legolas leaned back again and waited for a lone rider to go out, sat astride one of these strange Mordor wargs they called caragors.

When he later moved to perhaps climb back onto the tower he had perched on earlier, he spotted a lone, white figure. He, too, had been watching Talion leave. For some reason this quieted Legolas' mind, just a little.

///

Aragorn was helping the Eorlingas with some drills to prepare their newest recruits for the upcoming battle. Most of them were just boys. Or old men. Farmers. Craftsmen. The backbone of Rohan. And they were asking them to do battle. It pained him to see this, but there was no other way. But as he was doing this, it meant he was in the courtyard when a massive, snarling beast pushed through the half-opened gates, carrying with it a harried looking Talion.

"Saruman's troops have passed the Fort of Isengard," the man shouted, meeting his eyes as he reigned in his steed. "I estimate they'll be here by nightfall. And our army can only buy you so much time."

Aragorn cursed silently. They had always known that there would never be enough time. Never enough time, nor resources, nor manpower to prepare. But to hear it. He took a deep breath, fortifying his heart.

"What of their numbers?" he asked, watching as the other man dismissed the caragor he had been riding. The beast growled but ambled out the gate as if it were a tame horse.

"They're all infantry, so at least there is that. I have seen a few sappers, some crossbowmen, and they carry ladders with them to scale the wall. Otherwise, Saruman seems to count on the sheer number of them to win him the defeat of Rohan."

"How many?" Gamlin joined, looking grim.

Talion hesitated, toying with the fringe of his white cloak.

"I would estimate about fifty thousand."

Gamlin cursed out loud, and Aragorn watched as those words cut through the men who were standing with them, attempting to do drills like soldiers, when their hands were more used to pitchforks and sickles than swords and spears. Fear took many forms. It was nebulous and cold, when unknown. This was the fear that had held these men for the last few days. But this was a new fear, and it burned hot and terrible. It was a fear of the known, of the absolute certainty of pain and suffering to come.

 _At first light, on the fifth day_ , Aragorn thought. _At dawn, look towards the East_.

That was their only hope.

"How much time can you buy us?" Aragorn asked.

"I don’t know how long we'll hold," Talion replied. "But I think we can at least halve that number."

"That leaves us still with twenty-five thousand Uruk at our gates," Elfhelm protested.

"And besides, how do you intend to kill twenty-five thousand in the first place? Your troops only number ten thousand, and they'll be crushed against the outer defenses of Helm's Deep as Saruman advances."

Talion harshly clenched his fist at his side, as if reaching for a weapon that wasn't there at the moment.

"We'll fight to the death. We have an army of orcs that are willing to pay the ultimate price. We have a Ring of Power. And we have a few tricks up our sleeve. It has to be enough."

Gamlin and Elfhelm grumbled and stepped away then, though their pupils were distracted, to continue drills. Leaving them to it, Aragorn stepped away, coming to stand next to Talion, who looked less troubled than he perhaps should.

"I need to see Celebrimbor," he said.

"I can show you to where he has been resting." Aragorn gestured towards the Hornburg. Talion only nodded, apparently having anticipated the fact that his partner may not be strong enough to be up and about. "If we may speak while we walk?"

"Certainly. Your elf friend spoke to me last night, and he said that I might find it interesting to talk to you." The man looked at him shrewdly. "He said that you are a Dúnedain."

Aragorn nodded.

"I am that. And I surmised that you are a Man of Gondor. A Ranger perhaps, even."

"You would be correct in that assumption. Or rather, I was all that."

"Ah, yes. Now you are a Lord of Mordor."

"A _Bright_ Lord," Talion corrected him with a smirk. "It will shock you to find out that it was not me who came up with that title."

This teased a genuine smile out of Aragorn.

"I was fostered by elves after my father's death – I know a few things about their flair for theatrics. But Bright Lord? It is a rather obvious moniker, mirroring the Dark Lord's title."

"True. Then again, we have fought him indirectly for decades, and once even directly."

Aragorn came to a halt on the steps of the Hornburg, regarding his walking companion as if seeing him for the first time. Or perhaps his eyes had merely been opened.

"You have … fought the Dark Lord."

"Well, truth be told, it was mostly Celebrimbor and the Ring. But," Talion shrugged, "I was there."

"Is that why your friend is weakened?" Aragorn asked, and continued to climb the stairs.

"Among other things. Forging Enda consumed a lot of his power, too. And it wasn't the first time he has battled Sauron."

"The stories tell of his death in the Second Age."

"Well …" Talion heaved a deep sigh. "I suppose you should know about that. We are both technically dead. It is our connection to each other and the Ring that keeps us alive, in a manner of speaking. I believe the correct term is 'banished from death'. He, by choice. Me, not so much."

Aragorn nodded, feeling rather as if perhaps something like this should surprise him. It didn't.

"It explains Legolas' confusion about your age," he said and led them into the Hornburg proper. This early in the morning, it was still bustling with people who were getting ready for a day full of work ahead of them. Only one room was peaceful and quiet, and Aragorn stepped inside, holding the door open for his companion.

Talion did not hesitate to step towards the fireplace, lit and blazing with warmth that drove all the dampness and cold of an ancient castle from the room. In front of it, a figure lay stretched across a ratty old settee, cushioned with a few even rattier blankets. Aragorn watched as Talion took the hand hanging limply over the edge and laced their fingers together. On one of their fingers, clasped so tightly as to be indistinguishable from another, glinted the Ring of the Heart.

"I'm back," Talion whispered, and Aragorn felt as if he was intruding on a private moment.

"You saw Saruman's forces?"

"Yes. Fifty thousand infantry. You will need to summon the others. How fast can they be here?"

A pause.

"By tonight. When the moon is highest."

"That is good. Keep them waiting behind the Ered Nimrais."

"Yes, we need the advantage of surprise."

Aragorn frowned. Were there more troops waiting? It could be vital, to turn the tides of battle.

"How are you feeling? I'll stay if- …"

"No, Talion. You are needed out there. Go and help the Rohirrim. We mustn't lose them."

This was the moment Talion leaned in, and Aragorn respectfully turned his back on the two of them. Perhaps he should have left earlier. Now it was too late, either way.

"I am better, now that you are here," said Celebrimbor after a long pause. "Don't worry. I shall join you later."

"Alright. I'll hold you to that."

Aragorn met Talion's gaze as he rejoined him and stepped outside with him, closing the door behind them.

"What can I do?" Talion asked.

"Come with me. We will find you something to do."

///

The last hours before battle. The sky was dark, obscured by clouds or perhaps something more sinister than that, and Legolas anticipated a gloomy dusk. It was to be expected, with a battle such as this ahead of them. He did not need to rest, but mortals did, and yet he knew there had not been many able to rest last night.

He sat atop the highest tower again, keeping watch. There was a bitter wind biting into his skin. Though he did not feel the cold as a Man would, it still chilled him to the bone. A terrible omen.

Legolas heard the voice before he could see the white clad figure that it belonged to. And it was even later that he felt the effects. Like a candle, perhaps, that was lit in his heart. Not much, certainly not enough to dispel the cold by itself. But it was there.

Saruman's troops wouldn't arrive until nightfall anyway. And this might be even more important than observing their approach. So, Legolas abandoned his unofficial post and climbed down.

He did not go towards the song straight away, rather he directed his feet towards some of the makeshift barracks. There, he found a dwarf with fire red hair, sharpening his axe as if it was the only thing in the world.

"Come with me, friend," he told Gimli. He didn't ask. And so, Gimli rose from his bed roll, eyes glinting curiously as he fell into step alongside Legolas. It was only then that he went towards the sound.

"What is it we're doing?" Gimli asked after a short while.

"You do not have to do anything. I wanted you to hear this."

"What, an elf caterwauling into the night? Laddie, I've heard you enough times."

"That's not what this is," Legolas muttered, frowning. "Do you not feel it?"

Gimli was silent then and quiet. Legolas could not make out his expression. Too early, he thought, they reached a spot near the outer walls, a perch high up, a place that oversaw much of Helm's Deep. There sat Celebrimbor, the Ring on his finger glowing gently but brightly, leaning against Talion's legs, as he stood and kept watch.

Legolas stepped towards them, registering that Gimli had stopped behind him, but going forward, nonetheless. Celebrimbor looked up at him, sound dripping from his lips like blood. It clearly tired him, and this close by Legolas felt the power pressing against his skin like rays of sunshine during the height of summer at noon. Slowly, Legolas joined his voice in, a silvery accent to Celebrimbor's crushed velvet tones.

The magic spread again, the warm aura of a campfire, the comforting smell of a bakery, the caress of a mother's hand. It made Legolas smile and sing louder, hoping that it carried far enough to encompass all of Helm's Deep. He hoped that it reached into the caves below them, where the women and children and the infirm were surely all also huddled and afraid.

After a while, Talion joined them, his voice just a voice, lacking the depth that Legolas and Celebrimbor had. But it was lovely nonetheless, for its honesty and straightforwardness. And it harmonized beautifully with them. Legolas turned to look at Gimli, who sat nearby, only watching. He didn't join them, even though Legolas knew that he had a lovely voice, too.

It didn't stop there. The orc camp below rose up in song as well, and this time Legolas admitted to himself that he heard the joy and the hope blooming there. Perhaps he had misjudged these creatures. Perhaps they were capable of more.

Much later, instead of the deep baritone Legolas knew, the curling smoke of a pipe joined at least, its sweet, pungent smell carried on the air just like their song.

The Hornburg itself stayed silent. But when sunset came, Legolas thought that it felt rather less cold and gloomy than before. And this time, the warmth stayed, even after they fell silent.

Legolas looked towards the horizon, darker than it should be. Saruman's army had arrived.

"To our stations," he said. And when he went to stand with the other archers, he saw darkness approaching. But it was met with this, the joy of life, the happiness of comradery, the pride of a nation. They all loved. They were all strengthened by the Ring's powers.

Today they were going to win.

///

Aragorn stood with King Théoden on top of the inner castle walls, a perfect view of Helm's Deep and the armies marching against each other laid out before him. Next to him, Celebrimbor and Talion observed grimly as their orcs advanced, ready to meet Saruman's forces. It did not look good. Fifty thousand against their ten thousand. It looked like a sparrow trying to do battle with a great eagle.

"Have the archers get ready," King Théoden said to Gamlin and sent him out. "And speak with the men. Give them confidence."

After Gamlin had left, Celebrimbor quietly muttered: "The Ring will fortify their courage. It is not necessary to waste time with words."

King Théoden frowned.

"I trust my man more than such alien power."

Aragorn looked between the two, hoping such words would not cause tension. They didn't need power squabbles, on the morn of a battle like this. Thankfully, both Man and elf looked away, too entranced by the sight before them.

Celebrimbor reached out with his closed fist, the Ring gleaming brightly on his finger, just as the two armies clashed on the field. The noise was incredible, even this far away. Screams, bellows, the clang of weapons on armor. The sound of death.

"Do we need our reinforcements?" Talion asked.

"Not yet," Celebrimbor gritted between his teeth, shaking with effort.

They watched as Saruman's troops pressed on, only to clash against the immovable force of Helm's Deep's very own orc defenders. Aragorn would have liked to attribute this to the Ring alone, reinforcing them to withstand such strain. But he watched as they rotated in perfect symmetry, covering their crossbowmen, the caragor riders wheeling around to cover the flanks. This was military precision. Even with the help of the Ring, likely impressing Celebrimbor's commands onto all of his orcs directly and at once, it was an extraordinary display.

Row after row of Saruman's Uruk were struck down – though their supply seemed endless, at least it was something. Every orc slain was one that would never breach Helm's Deep.

Next to Aragorn, King Théoden started pacing like a caged wolf, though he kept his eyes trained on the battlefield.

For a while, the battle seemed to be at a stalemate. Aragorn could not see too many losses on their own side, but with the continuous stream of Saruman's Uruk to replace their fallen ones, they also didn't make any headway.

There was a sudden shift in energy, when there was sudden movement, and a large cluster of trolls broke free, charging forward to tear large swathes of destruction through the enemy ranks. At the same time, Celebrimbor sagged, as if under a devastating weight.

Aragorn jumped to support him instinctively, though Talion had done the same. Together, they stood him back on his feet.

"That will buy us some time," the elf panted, lowering his hand.

"How long can they last?" Aragorn asked. _How long can you?_ he didn't say.

"Long enough."

Talion moved away for a moment, returning with a waterskin. He did not hand it to his partner, rather holding it to his mouth himself. Aragorn watched the way the elf dug his fingers into the stone of the ramparts, clinging with the last of his strength. However, after a few swallows, he relaxed, standing more firmly.

When Aragorn sniffed the air, he smelled the distinct rainwater and honeydew scent of miruvor.

"Again," Celebrimbor sighed. This time, he did not raise his fist or make any other gesture. The expenditure of power was still palpable, however, raising the fine hairs on Aragorn's arms and neck. Below, the defenders took advantage of the confusion and space that the trolls had created with their earlier charge and pressed onward, gaining a little ground. The riders swept in to take it, capitalizing on the enemy's momentary weakness, until things stabilized. They retreated, escorting the trolls back and making room for the infantry core. Then they held their new position, stoutly and stalwartly, as if the battle had only just begun.

Aragorn looked towards the sky, which was heavily overcast, not allowing view of the stars. Still, judging by his own sense of time it was not yet midnight. This was going to be a long, long night.

The stalemate continued. The orcs did battle, one side fortified by Enda, the Ring of the Heart, and the other side bred for war, endurance and strength by a powerful Wizard. Talion had promised them that they would halve Saruman's numbers and it was looking good – except for the way Celebrimbor kept sagging against the battlements after each successful deflection of an enemy surge or attack of their own. Every time it took him just a little bit longer to recover, despite the miruvor. Until a charge they could not capitalize on.

"Send in the reinforcements," Talion urged.

"No. I can hold them."

"Celebrimbor."

" _Talion_." He tore his eyes from the field, glaring at his partner. "Trust me, I can hold on."

"We don't need you to hold on, we need to advance. If you won't call them, then I will go myself."

"No, you mustn't- …" He groaned, gritting his teeth. Their frontline had crumbled. Caragor riders rushed in to cover a momentary retreat, bolstering their infantry core so it could recover. The trolls held the flank with the help of the crossbowmen, but the center still wavered.

Aragorn watched the maneuver, his hands gripping the railing hard enough to nearly draw blood on the rough edges.

"I'm going. I won't hear it."

A pause.

"Then go with my love, Talion. Go with my heart."

Ripping his gaze from the battle for a short moment, Aragorn witnessed as Talion touched a gentle hand to Celebrimbor's cheek, and the anguished, desperate look passing between them. Then, Talion tore himself away. Without another word he launched himself across the ramparts and dashed forward with unnatural speed. Aragorn recognized elvish magic when he saw it.

Mere seconds later Aragorn watched him descend upon the orcs of Saruman in a blaze of light. Now he understood why they called themselves the Bright Lords of Mordor.

Talion singlehandedly held the frontline as their army recovered from the earlier collapse, seemingly even drawing strength from his mere presence. They were far away, but Aragorn heard the battle cries loudly and clearly as they all but shook the ground with the force of their cheer.

And then they _stormed_ the enemy, completely turning the tides.

Aragorn felt such a rush of pure elation that he was distracted for a moment. Only belatedly did he realize that Celebrimbor next to him had seemingly regained his energy, now stood firmly on his feet as the Ring on his finger glowed brighter than ever before. Its sphere of influence was like static crackling against Aragorn's skin, making his heart beat faster.

After a moment, he heard the Rohirrim react. They roared, joining into the cries of the orc defenders, and the rush intensified even more.

He began to realize that the Ring – and by extension Celebrimbor – were both able to exert energy into pushing others to heights they could not reach otherwise, and if whoever was touched by its influence experienced euphoria themselves, it fed back into the Ring's power. It was a give and take. So far, he had mostly given, spending more energy than Celebrimbor could hope to sustain. But now the orcs had seen their leader, who had rejoined them in their fight. And that alone had spurred them on so much it strengthened the Ring-bearer in return.

The battle continued like this for hours more, the light waning even more as midnight came and went, and though the defenders put up a valiant effort, in the end enthusiasm were just no match to the numbers of Saruman. Slowly, but surely, the Uruk whittled away at the orc troops stood before Helm's Deep, until they could do naught but hold on.

"Yes," Celebrimbor whispered next to Aragorn, unprompted. "It is time."

He raised his hand and began to sing, a charged, tense melody that rose and rose and rose to nearly unbearable power. Aragorn had to step back and tear his gaze away to watch the crumbling first defense instead. Until he heard a cry from one of their scouts.

" _Nazgûl_!"

Aragorn's heart filled with dread. He heard King Théoden start to shout commands, calling for a retreat back into the caves, when …

"No! They are our reinforcements!"

Disbelieving, Aragorn looked between Celebrimbor and the dozens of broad-winged shadows that crested the Ered Nimrais- … The Ered Nimrais. He remembered the conversation he had overheard. Quickly, he got King Théoden's attention by shaking his arm.

"Do not retreat. He is right."

King Théoden looked grim, searching Aragorn's face. Whatever he saw there apparently soothed him enough to nod once, sternly, and order everyone to stand down. It did not ease the sudden taste of fear and the sense of impending doom, however. Seeing the shadows flying towards Saruman's troops did not dispel that fear. But then. The first one swooped down, not to land or to snatch up an orc.

It opened up its terrible maw and spat forth fire – terrible, wonderful, awful inferno that blazed across the sky and lit up the night.

"Fire drakes," Aragorn whispered, unable to tear his eyes away.

"I cannot control them for very long," Celebrimbor groaned. "You will have to – yes, just guide them away. We can deal with that later."

On the battlefield, a bright flash connected to one of the drakes, and they began to attack in more directed patterns. But Aragorn looked away, then, and went to kneel beside Celebrimbor, who had collapsed.

"Here," he muttered and handed the elf the last of the miruvor. As he drank, Aragorn put a hand above his heart, hoping to perhaps lend some strength himself. But there was nothing there.

He met Celebrimbor's eyes, and the elf smiled weakly.

"Nothing there for you to heal, elvellon. Conserve your strength for those who need it. Prepare your own defenses – this is the last trick up our sleeves."

Aragorn nodded and burst into action. He went to inform King Théoden, who assembled his lieutenants and sent them out. Quickly, the Hornburg awakened, the Rohirrim taking up arms. They were ready to fight. They had seen the enemy being pushed back. There was a sort of confidence there now. Where once they had thought this endeavor hopeless, now they knew they actually had a chance to win.

First up were the archers. Aragorn joined Legolas on the Deeping Wall, seeing to his surprise that Gimli stood with the elf as his close guard.

"Finally!" the dwarf exclaimed. "I haven't been able to see anything this entire time. Are we winning? Do I get to whet my axe now?"

"You will have your chance very soon Master Gimli." Aragorn squinted and looked at the fire drakes. Almost half of them had been slain, and the rest of them looked agitated. Perhaps the hold the Ring had on them was weakening. Surely enough, he spotted a bright streak of light flitting from drake to drake. As soon as he left each one, they dropped from the skies to crush more Uruk beneath their bodies, until none of the flying beasts were left.

Saruman's forces advanced then, smelling blood in the water. The defensive army had been whittled down to a pitiful fraction, still fighting valiantly, but it was for naught. They were swallowed by the oncoming wave of enemies even as they retreated.

Aragorn drew his sword and Legolas notched an arrow when something dropped from the sky – but it was only Talion.

"Celebrimbor?" he panted, a wild look in his eyes. His face and armor were stained nearly entirely black by orc blood, and he had lost his white cloak.

"Here."

Gimli cursed and jumped, giving the elf the stink eye.

"You are lucky I didn't have my axe at the ready yet!"

The elf ignored him and stepped past him to clasp hands with Talion.

"You shouldn't be this close to the front line," Talion said.

"It doesn't matter now. Just do it."

Talion nodded and reached out to pluck Enda from Celebrimbor's finger – and then things happened very quickly. First, Celebrimbor dropped to the ground as if struck dead on the spot. Then, Talion put the Ring on his own hand, and Aragorn had to shield his eyes at the sudden flash of light. When he next could bear to look upon Talion, his entire left side was aglow with the spectral outlines of ancient armor. And the eye that met Aragorn's stare challengingly was that of Celebrimbor.

"The archers," he – they – said.

Aragorn grimly put aside all other thought. He raised his arm, calling all attention to him where he stood tall and commanding. At his word, the archers readied their bows, notched their arrows and loosened them.

"Fire!" came the echoing command from the Hornburg.

Volley after volley darkened the night sky, felling rows upon rows of Uruk. Gimli cheered loudly at each answering groan from below. One entire row was felled by a quick succession of brightly glowing arrows, and Aragorn allowed himself to divide his attention for a second. Talion and Celebrimbor were laughing at Legolas, who huffed and redoubled his own efforts.

But soon enough the arrows were not enough. Aragorn saw the advancing orcs carrying ladders and called for his archers to focus them. When the first ladder was rooted on the muddy ground, he cursed. Dozens suddenly sprouted into the air, catapulting orcs onto the Deeping Wall.

"Swords! Swords!" he screamed, drawing his own weapon.

Immediately, they were all but overrun. As soon as one was dealt with, two more took its place. It was utter chaos, and Aragorn lost sight of his friends in the midst of it. From the on, all he could focus on was his own survival, and the felling of beast after beast.

They needed to dislodge the ladders. Panting furiously, Aragorn slew another Uruk and then pushed. The ladder fell with a satisfying crunch that he hoped had crushed another dozen.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something, down below among Saruman's troops. A bright light. A quick look told him it was not Talion, who still stood on the ramparts, pushing off another ladder. With a sick lurch, Aragorn realized what it was instead.

"Legolas!" he shouted, gaining the elf's attention. He pointed at the torch making its way towards the Deeping Wall. Legolas drew his bow and shot. The arrow lodged itself in the orc's throat, but it didn't even slow him. Incredulous, Legolas drew again. Another shot. Still, the orc did not pause.

A second, glowing arrow joined the first two, piercing the orc's forehead – but it was too late.

With a resounding boom, the Deeping Wall was breached by a massive explosion that sent bodies and rocks flying everywhere. Aragorn was flung away and back into the courtyard, where he impacted heavily, losing consciousness for a moment from the force of it.

"Breach!" somebody screamed, but it sounded muffled in Aragorn's ears. He shook his head, trying to dispel the pressure preventing him from hearing properly.

Before he could regain his bearing fully, there were already orcs upon them, flooding the courtyard. Aragorn gripped his sword, blinking furiously to fight the remaining effects of the blow he had been dealt and prepared himself to fight for his life. As he hacked and slashed, always on his back foot, he was only dimly aware of his surroundings. The screams around him were deafening, both the pitiful sounds of orcs being gutted, as well as the pained shouts of his fellow Men as they were felled beneath the advancing assault.

Just when he was ready to call for their retreat to the Hornburg, a bright flash cut a wide berth through the orcs in front of him, sending at least half of them collapsed to the ground. It gave Aragorn enough reprieve to adjust the grip on his sword and take a breath as he watched Talion and Celebrimbor stop the flow of Uruk bodies through the hole in the Deeping Wall for just a few moments.

"Thou shalt trespass no further!" they shouted, left arm raised, and Aragorn caught the bright gleam of the Ring there. Like a surge of energy, a sip of miruvor, Aragorn raised his sword with renewed strength.

"To the breach!" Aragorn screamed, making himself heard over the continued din of battle. "Defend the breach!"

Like a flood wave, the reinvigorated voices of his comrades swept over him, carrying Aragorn forward. He came to stand beside Talion and Celebrimbor, who hacked and slashed their path through the oncoming tide of Uruk with incredible speed and precision. As they locked into a formation, Aragorn felt the Ring's power gush through him like the warmth of a bonfire after a night out on patrol. Like the warm welcome of an old friend. Like … like greeting Arwen. Like his love for her.

"For Rohan!"

"For King Théoden!"

Aragorn nearly stumbled as an entire row of Saruman's forces was struck by gleaming white arrows and pushed back.

"For Mordor!"

He laughed when Talion and Celebrimbor joined the chorus with their own battle cry, meeting their joy with his own. The Ring's power was not diminishing, and neither were they. They _believed_. They _loved_. And as long as their hearts were steadfast, Helm's Deep was not going to fall.

Aragorn knew not how much time had passed when suddenly a different warmth touched his skin. It came from the outside, not from within. He fell back into the protective circle of his comrades to look around, startled by the sudden break.

The sun?

_At dawn, look towards the East._

Aragorn raised his hand to shield his eyes, seeing the first rays of the sun peak over the Ered Nimrais. No. They were blocked by something. Something bright.

Then, a deep horn resounded, bringing a momentary halt to the battle as realization sunk in.

"Gandalf," Aragorn gasped.

The army of Rohirrim descended the flanks of the mountain and broke the ranks of Saruman's Uruk with one fell swoop. Never before had Aragorn seen anything like it, anything as beautiful and wonderful as the ride of the Eorlingas.

"Rohan!" he shouted and watched as Gandalf's army decimated the orcs.

They had done it. Helm's Deep stood firm, and Rohan was safe. For now.

///

Not all of it was over, of course, though this victory was sorely needed. Not everyone believed that Sauron really was back, that he was amassing his power and resources to once more attempt to destroy and dominate all of Middle-Earth. It helped that Rohan still stood strong, not diminished even by the losses that were inevitable. Too much life was already lost, and more were yet to be torn away. But they had won. Just this once. Whether the hope that burned low like freshly lit kindling in their hearts was just that or a spark laid by the Ring of the Heart, nobody knew, and nobody cared.

They celebrated, just a little, before the inevitably had to ride out again. First to Isengard, to deal with Saruman once and for all. And then …

Aragorn was torn from his thoughts, preventing them for descending to the sort of unavoidable darkness that hung above all their heads like thunderclouds. A silver glint streaked through the air, attached to a hand that waved elegantly.

The Bright Lords of Mordor were leaving already, called back to their own campaign, their own fortresses and battles that were to be fought. From somewhere they had called a caragor to carry them away. As Aragorn watched the beast bound forward with powerful strokes until the figures were almost too small to see properly, the song pouring forth in true elven fashion lingered still. Like the sweet fragrance of roses, it stayed with him, and he could see it stayed with his companions as well.

Later that night, Aragorn found Legolas singing the very same song, a counterpart melody to it, and Gimli sat listening, smoking his pipe.

His heart warm, he looked into the fire and dispersed all thought of the future for now. There were still powers in this world that were benign. They were not alone in fighting the darkness. This thought filled him with hope until he thought he should burst.

They were not meant to win this battle, the assault on Helm's Deep, yet they withstood. Perhaps … Just perhaps. This war was not yet decided either.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading :)


End file.
